


London

by biggayidiot



Series: Passport [2]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bath Sex, Birthday Sex, Bottom Richard, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Edgeplay, Edging, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Taron, Unsafe Sex, some fluff even! new for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 09:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggayidiot/pseuds/biggayidiot
Summary: “Well, I wanted to see if you’d make the trek and come say hello. I’m in London for a minute.”“As if you’d have to ask.”“Good. Tuesday is my birthday--”“I knew that, thank you very much. I’m there. What’s planned?”“Drinking. Lots of it.”“That’s my guy,” Taron says, already picturing it: Richard’s body against his, head to toe, in the corner of a dark bar kissing him in the full-bodied way you kiss someone you miss too much to be able to put into words, tasting cigarettes and chewing gum and whiskey on Richard’s tongue--“I got a little flat while I’m staying here, I’ll send you the address,” Taron hears Richard say, shaking him back into the conversation. “Stay a day or two if you like. I have the space."





	London

**Author's Note:**

> A reimagining of Richard's birthday this year ("reimagining," as if I know anything that happened besides Richard being in London) because I am addicted to flirty drunk Gemini Richard Madden and I will simply not apologize for it!!!! #bottomrichardhive
> 
> This is a bit fluffier and more emotional than I usually write, so still expect uhhh mostly porn but some feelings, too! Being emotional was really fun to try out, lmao. Also wanted to try writing something from Taron's POV. Sweet sweet sweet sweet boy.

Since being at home, Taron has ignored pretty much every email, text, and call he’s gotten, if he can help it. He’s got a nice chunk of time off and intends to spend it with his family, on the beach with his friends, getting away from the hurry-up-and-wait of production and press and premieres. He can slough off all the character work and enjoy a fucking drink by the water. Finally.

When Richard calls, however, in the middle of the kind of huge family party Taron has always loved, he picks up. Of course.

After the pleasantries, Richard asks, “You’re still in Aberystwyth?” Richard’s voice on the other line is throaty and deep. Tired, of course, when isn’t he, but content. It twinges something in Taron, who clutches his phone to his ear and turns back to the mass of family members in the living room.

“Yeah, I’m here for awhile. Having a sort of vacation.”

“That sounds nice. Give mum a kiss from me.” A smile in Richard’s voice. It makes Taron fizz from head to toe.

“She’ll be thrilled by a kiss from the sexiest man alive.” Richard laughs. “What’s up, mate, where are you these days?”

“Well, I wanted to see if you’d make the trek and come say hello. I’m in London for a minute.”

“As if you’d have to ask.”

“Good. Tuesday is my birthday--”

“I knew that, thank you very much. I knew your birthday was coming up, I hope you know.” Taron nearly bites through his bottom lip suppressing a grin as Richard laughs again. He never tires of that: the thrill of impressing Richard in some small way, the way it makes his cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Oh, you don’t have to overcompensate quite that much, I know you’re flighty, love--”

“Serious! It’s in my calendar. Was gonna have Mick send an Edible Arrangement or some shit.”

“I’ll gladly accept the Edible Arrangement but I still expect you to come to London.”

“I’m there. What’s planned?”

“Drinking. Lots of it.”

“That’s my guy,” Taron says, already picturing it: Richard’s body against his, head to toe, in the corner of a dark bar kissing him in the full-bodied way you kiss someone you miss too much to be able to put into words, tasting cigarettes and chewing gum and whiskey on Richard’s tongue--

“I got a little flat while I’m staying here, I’ll send you the address,” Taron hears Richard say, shaking him back into the conversation. “Stay a day or two if you like. I have the space,” Richard slips in. 

“Oh, you ‘have the space,’ do you.”

“Yeah, a nice spare bedroom I can cart you off to so I don’t have to watch you thrash around all night.”

Taron snorts. “Well, don’t bother putting fresh sheets on the guest bed, because I refuse to visit if I don’t get to stay in the same room.”

Taron can practically see the smug smile stretching across Richard’s lips when he says, in that maddeningly nonchalant way of his, “If you’re good.”

“If _I’m_ good,” Taron marvels, no bite behind it.

They wrap up their conversation and Richard pings him the address and the party popper emoji. Taron immediately books a train ticket. It’s almost five hours into London from Aberystwyth, but Taron’s happy to make the trip, to experience a sense of normalcy taking the rail like he used to. He has what feels like all the time in the world. And after all, it _is_ Richard’s birthday.

***

Taron gets to Euston station around 5 PM on Richard’s birthday, then takes a 40 minute tube ride to Chelsea. He weaves his way through the neighborhood, feeling like quite the average person, not talking on the phone with his agent, enjoying the freeness of an empty schedule and a June evening.

And he’s thinking about Richard. Of course.

It’s been a few weeks since their spate of _Rocketman_ premieres, so it hasn’t exactly been ages since they last saw each other, but Taron has yet to shake that lingering, lovesick feeling - thinking about Richard every day, remembering the ease of being around him on set, trying to recall the specific, excruciating details of the weeks their shooting schedules overlapped. The wavy length of Richard’s hair. His clean-shaven jaw. His big hands, warm and dry, on Taron’s shoulders and back and thighs and neck. Taron clenches and unclenches his fists in his jacket pockets.

Taron turns onto Richard’s street. Well-kept and pretty, just like everything in Chelsea. Identical Georgian flats loom over him. When he gets to Richard’s building, he shoots him a text - _think im here? big posh building right_ \- and is buzzed inside. 

“Some little flat you got here,” Taron says when Richard opens the door into a gorgeous two-level flat, shiny clean and modern, if not a bit sterile. Unlived-in, for now. “Happy birthday, mate.” 

Richard folds him into a hug. Taron wonders how he could have forgotten the feeling of Richard pressed against him. “Oh, thanks. Good to see you, T.” When he pulls away, Taron takes in Richard’s enormous presence, broad and solid and muscled and _handsome_ , is the only way Taron can think to describe him. Handsome like someone royal, like someone’s approximation of a prince. He’s wearing a navy blue sweater and immaculately fitted black jeans. Taron wets his lips without thinking. Richard cocks his head. Smiles.

“33, Richard, your Jesus year,” Taron says, stepping into the kitchen. Thick granite countertops. A gift basket from someone’s manager or publicist put off to the side. “Time to get serious, don’t you think.”

Richard trails Taron, stopping on the other side of the kitchen island. He watches Taron poke around the space. “Yeah, or time to grow my hair to here and drink a lot of wine and all that. Get some apostles, maybe.”

“Could do,” Taron laughs. He stops to lean against the counter. It’s almost difficult for him to look at Richard, the sheer brightness of him making his blood pump faster. Like the first time meeting him all over again. “So what’s the plan, am I just the first one here or did you lure me to your home for some other nefarious reason?”

“You wish,” Richard quips. Taron pushes himself off the counter and approaches from the other side of the island. He rests his elbows on the countertop and leans towards Richard. Close enough to reach out and touch. “You'rethe only one who has exclusive access to chez Madden after hours, however.”

“‘Chez Madden,’ give me a fucking break.”

Right as Richard grins at Taron, tongue poking between the gaps in his teeth, the doorbell buzzer sounds. Taron watches Richard saunter to the call box and buzz the first of many new people up to his flat.

***

First there’s dinner at a painfully chic restaurant, where Taron gets on well with the group of Richard’s friends he’s seated with. A friend or two from Glasgow, some industry folks. A pretty well-known fashion designer, if Taron’s memory serves, which it probably doesn’t considering he spends most of his time downing gin and tonics and sneaking glances at Richard. 

Richard is holding court at the end of the table. He’s drinking and basking in the glow of attention. When he tips his head back on a laugh, neck bared pretty and pale, Taron has a nearly irrepressible urge to surge forward and mark his territory, to suck and bite a bruise into the thin skin. Richard’s eyes flick to Taron and his lips quirk up before turning to someone telling a story at his end of the table. Taron orders another drink.

After dinner, they relocate to the kind of cocktail bar that tabloids bill as a “celebrity hotspot,” complete with velvet rope. A far cry from the dives Taron usually prefers - the dives that he and Richard took up residency in after 12 hour days of shooting. Taron sticks with the duo of Richard’s friends from drama school, bro-y but kind guys that Taron finds common ground in drinking Stella with. They’ve known Richard since he was 18. Taron wonders what Richard was like back then.

As Richard snakes his way through his groups of friends, always with at least a half-full drink in his hand, he stops and puts an arm around Taron’s shoulders. “You’ve met Taron, then?” he says, an uninhibited lilt in his voice Taron recognizes after he’s a few drinks in. “One of my favorite people ever, honestly.”

Taron can’t focus on what the other guys are saying, too tuned-in to Richard’s body up against his. He glances up and Richard smiles down at him. Taron goes dizzy with want. 

“Well, I’m sorry to take him from you, lads,” Richard says. He turns to Taron, removing his arm from his shoulders, squeezing the back of Taron’s neck now. “Wanna introduce you to some people.”

Taron says his see-you-laters and good-meeting-yous and follows Richard through throngs of people. Richard doesn’t stop for any introductions, single-minded in his mission. He turns back, once, to look at Taron and say, “Are you having a good time?” 

Taron laughs a little huff of a laugh. “Are you, birthday boy?”

“I really am.”

When they get closer to the back, Richard leads them towards a corridor of single-stall restrooms. He tries one of the handles. It’s unlocked. Richard takes Taron’s hand and leads him inside. Taron lets himself be led. 

Richard shuts the door behind them and leans up against it. He already looks debauched. His hair is wavy with sweat and humidity. He tugs at the collar of his sweater. “I just want you to know I’m not avoiding you ‘r anything but there’s never just been a moment to be alone.”

“Oh, shut it,” Taron says, crowding in close. He puts a hand in the middle of Richard’s chest and pushes him flush against the door. A satisfied smile blooms across Richard’s face. “It’s your birthday, you’re allowed to be the star. But when aren’t you, really.”

Richard hums contentedly. He runs a hand down Taron’s side. Taron jumps a little, ticklish. “Well, I’m glad you came ‘n have met everyone.”

“Yeah, me too. Really like everyone, honestly. I love your friends from home.” 

“Everyone fucking loves you, too. You fit in anywhere.” Richard covers Taron’s hand on his chest with his own. “I like having you around again.”

There’s a moment, tension like a vacuum between the two, Taron’s hands twitching with the urge to grab and pull and bite and take and take and take as Richard stands there playing at being demure. He takes Richard’s face in his hands and kisses him deep and hard. Richard sighs with what sounds like relief. Taron licks into Richard’s mouth, the filthy sound of their lips sliding together intensified by the echoey tiled bathroom. That just makes Taron want it more. When Taron presses close enough, hip against Richard’s crotch, he can feel him half-hard through their layers of clothes. 

When Taron pulls away, Richard looks fucked out already, eyes hooded, licking at his lips. He interlocks his fingers with Taron’s. “We should get back out there,” he says, then ducks in for another tipsy, sloppy kiss, pressing a final peck to the side of Taron’s mouth. He untwines their fingers. 

“You go first, I’ll meet you out there in a few,” Taron says. 

Richard opens the door just a crack before turning back to Taron, saying, “We’ve gotten quite good at this timing-bathroom-exits thing.”

“You reckon?” Taron laughs. Richard waggles his eyebrows at him and shuts the door, leaving Taron to appraise himself in the mirror. Face flushed, lips pinked up and swollen. Looking absolutely desperate for it. Taron closes his eyes, lets out a deep breath, then heads back out. 

***

It’s getting late. Richard decides to end the night with the remaining partygoers at a bar that’s a little more Taron’s speed: dark wood paneling, super loud music, lots of beer. No one bats an eye when their group walks in. Taron prefers it that way. 

Taron intercepts Richard at the bar. “Let me buy you a birthday drink, haven’t got to yet,” he says. 

“Lucky me.” When Taron signals the bartender and asks Richard what he wants, he says, “Something Scottish, I don’t care. Neat.” Taron laughs, orders the same, and they clink their glasses of Kilkerran together. 

And suddenly, Richard is approached by a beautiful young man Taron recognizes from dinner, one of the several people he has yet to be introduced to. Richard greets him happily, hugs him with one arm. Taron tries not to stare, but the man is tall and thin and extremely pretty, has perfect skin which Taron is jealous of, and is looking at Richard with a familiar glint in his eyes. Want. Maybe need. He laughs too loud at a joke Richard makes. Taron excuses himself with a brush of his hand over the expanse of Richard’s back. 

45 minutes later and the guy is still taking up Richard’s time. He’s getting touchy, Taron notices, and he hates that he’s noticing, that he’s watching so closely as if he has to keep tabs on Richard. 

Taron watches as the man rubs a hand over Richard’s arm. Richard’s gaze catches Taron’s and he almost breaks into laughter, the fucking bastard, knowing that Taron’s seen it all. Taron drops his jaw in mock anger, making an indignant face. Richard has to turn away to keep from cackling. Taron settles a little at that. He tears his eyes away from Richard and tries to focus on the group in front of him. 

Finally, _finally_ , Richard and the man approach Taron’s group of people in the corner of the bar. “I think it’s time I head out,” Richard says, definitely drunk, but eyes shining clear and mischievous at Taron. A few people protest - _one more drink_ , _there’s this great club just a few blocks away we could walk to_ \- but Richard says, “I’m fucking exhausted, not as young as I used to be.” To his credit, it is already 2 AM. Taron can’t help the silly pang of affection he feels for drunk old Richard wanting to go home. 

Everyone says their goodbyes and final happy birthdays. A small group heads to the next place, intent on keeping the night alive. Taron idles by the entrance, checking his phone, but can hear the man now leaning into Richard, asking where he’s going. 

“Oh, Taron’s staying the night at this flat I have for a few weeks, so we’re headed there.”

“Would you wanna come back to mine instead? One last birthday drink?” Taron hears the man say, a hand on Richard’s shoulder. Taron glances up quickly from his phone, then back down, preoccupying himself on Instagram. 

“Nah, I don’t think so, mate, I’m wiped. But thanks,” Richard says very gently, very sweetly, enough to make the man still think he may have a chance the next time they go out. And maybe he does. Taron doesn’t think about it. All Taron concentrates on now is the man leaving the bar to catch an Uber and Richard approaching him with outstretched arms, falling into a heavy embrace. “Let’s take a walk,” Richard says, pulling on his jacket. “I haven’t had a cigarette all fucking day and it’s my fucking birthday so don’t even say anything.” Taron is happy not to comment. He and Richard leave the bar and wind down quiet streets, just the sound of their footsteps against cobblestones, the flick of Richard’s lighter, and the occasional car sputtering past. 

Richard exhales and offers the cigarette to Taron, who takes it. Why the fuck not. As Taron takes a drag, Richard asks, “So you had a good time? Made it out okay?”

“Why do you keep asking me that? Did _you_ have a good time, is the real question.”

“I did. Spectacular time, if I’m honest.” Richard accepts the cigarette from Taron. “But I was really glad to show you off to everyone, since you’re quite new in my life, you know.”

Taron smiles, positively fucking giddy. “Happy to play show pony for you anytime, Dicky.”

“You’re a good sport.”

Taron trots along, uneven cobblestone path making him realize just how drunk he is. He tries to steel himself, sober up. “You know what’s weird,” he begins, in spite of himself. Richard listens intently. “Your friends from conservatory, isn’t it so mental that they’ve known you as like, so many different versions of yourself since you were 18.”

“Is it already the point in the night where we get philosophical?”

“Come on, you know what I mean. Just like, knowing you then and knowing you now. Knowing all that about you. All those Richards.”

Richard hums. Taron takes the cigarette. “Knowing all that about me and still putting up with me,” Richard muses. “I was a fucking twat in drama school.”

“Do you think we would have liked one another if we knew each other then?” 

“You’d’ve still been in, what, year 11 by the time I started uni?”

“Scandalous. What if I were first year undergrad and you were fourth?”

Richard thinks about it. Laughs a little to himself before answering. “I think I’d like you, yeah. Secretly.” He takes a drag and says on an exhale, “I think I’d think you’re really cute and funny and more talented than me, and I wouldn’t know what to do with myself about that, so I’d try to act cooler than you and just end up looking like a dick.”

“So like the first few days of _Rocketman_ rehearsals.”

“Shut up!” Richard bumps Taron with his shoulder. “What about me?”

“What would I think of you?”

“Yeah.”

“I would think...” Taron trails off, considering it. “Oh, I would be obsessed with you, I think. My hot older classmate playing hard to get. What a porno, seriously.”

Richard shouts with laughter. “I was not hot, trust me.”

“Okay, Romeo. Literally. Literal Romeo.”

Richard can’t stop laughing. “If this is you now, I can’t imagine how much of a nuisance you were back then.”

“Exponentially more so. Ask my mum.” Taron squeezes Richard’s shoulder. “Plus, you’re hot now, and this is the Richard that I know, so what’s it matter anyway.”

“Right, right. _Your_ Richard." Richard takes out a carton of cigarettes from his jacket and fishes out another. "You know, in this case, flattery will indeed get you everywhere, Egerton.” 

They continue on their walk, cool night air breathing some sense back into them. Taron takes the final drag of Richard’s cigarette and crushes it underfoot. When they turn on to another empty road, Richard reaches out and brushes Taron’s wrist. “Hey,” he says, stopping them in the middle of the road, and gives Taron a sweet, almost delicate kiss. Taron feels like he could explode. He feels like Richard is his, something he’s only experienced in fleeting moments before, but with Richard kissing him in public, no matter how deserted, it’s all a little bit more real. 

“Shall we?” Taron says when Richard pulls away.

“I think so,” Richard says.

Taron takes out his phone to hail a car while Richard works on lighting his second cigarette.

***

“I’m so tired. I really am so fucking old,” Richard whines as he unlocks the door to his flat. He flings his keys on the island and drapes himself over Taron, who holds Richard and sways gently, planting kisses on his neck, behind his ear.

“And you fucking stink,” Taron whispers the joke into Richard’s ear. “Forgot how much you sweat on a night out, mate, Jesus.”

Richard extracts himself from Taron’s hold and makes an indignant little noise. “Rude!” He shucks off his jacket then peels off his sweater and the undershirt underneath it, tossing them at Taron, who catches them in his arms. “Let’s go get clean then.” Richard starts up the stairs. For a moment Taron can only watch, helpless to do anything else but take in Richard’s muscled back and the waistband of his jeans slipping down his hips.

Taron meets Richard in the master bathroom. Richard is about to turn on the shower, but Taron spies the massive whirlpool tub behind him. “Oh my god, we’re using that,” he says, smacking Richard’s hand away from the shower knob. He starts to fill the tub with water as Richard strips the rest of the way. Richard comes up behind Taron as Taron begins to unbutton his shirt and nuzzles into his neck, sweet and playful, hindering the process. “Aren’t you sweet,” Taron says. Richard helps slide Taron’s shirt off his shoulders. 

When Taron is naked, he turns around to take another good look at Richard. _His_ Richard, the Richard he gets to know and touch. He cards his fingers through Richard’s hair and kisses him soft. Richard moans happily, which makes Taron smile against his lips until they’re both grinning, laughing private little laughs, Richard gripping Taron’s shoulders. 

“You know, you really are incredibly handsome,” Taron says, trying to memorize the shapes of Richard’s face, running his fingers over his nose and lips and cheekbones. Still a bit drunk, but mostly enamored, tactile. 

“Sap,” Richard says. He steps into the tub and sinks down into the water. 

Taron follows, slots himself behind Richard, who immediately tips his head back on Taron’s shoulders and shuts his eyes. Taron slides a wet hand over Richard’s forehead, through his hair. “Gonna fall asleep on me?”

“Might.”

They stay like that for awhile: Taron petting at Richard, Richard content to be pet. Taron kisses Richard’s temple, the shell of his ear, anywhere he can reach. After a few moments, Richard takes Taron’s free hand and guides it to his cock, half-hard. “Needy,” Taron murmurs. 

“Hey, now, it’s—“

“It’s your birthday, I know, I know.” Taron strokes Richard root to tip, warm water and firm hand making Richard shudder. “You can have whatever you want.” 

“I mean, not like you got me a gift,” Richard teases under his breath. Taron laughs and nips at Richard’s neck. 

Richard is fully hard. Taron strokes him faster, delights in Richard’s hot breath, his little whines, the buck of his hips making waves in the water. Taron pushes back Richard’s hair and leans in to say in his ear, “Do you want to come now?”

“Not yet,” Richard stutters out. Taron gives him one more stroke then removes his hand, leaving Richard hard and whimpering. “Fuck,” Richard breathes. 

Taron shifts, pushing Richard up so they’re sitting face to face, and kisses him. He grabs a bottle of some expensive body wash with a French label and pools some into his hand. He rubs it down Richard’s shoulders and chest. “Let’s get a move on, I kinda wanna see you do that again.”

Richard lets himself be manhandled, lathered and rinsed and cared for. “Do what again?”

“You know.” Taron massages his fingers into Richard’s scalp. “Like, almost coming but then not.”

“Mmm.”

“If you want to, that is.”

“I do, I definitely do.”

When they finally get out of the tub, Richard drops onto the bed, scrubbed clean and pink, still hard. He strokes himself as Taron towels off. Taron straddles him on the bed and murmurs into his mouth, “Can I fuck you?”

“Yeah,” Richard breathes back, and makes to turn over. Taron stops him, pushes him back down on the bed. 

“Wanna look at you, though,” he says, climbing off Richard’s thighs to root through the bedside table. “Wanna see you touch yourself. Didn’t get you all clean for nothing.”

Richard laughs. “There should be lube in there,” he says. 

Taron finds a travel size bottle. “Rubbers?” he asks. When Richard doesn’t answer, Taron looks over his shoulder to see Richard looking wide-eyed, a little nervous and a lot desperate, cock hard against his belly. 

“Don’t really want to use one with you,” he tries to say nonchalantly, but Taron can see him nearly buzzing out of his skin. 

“Oh yeah?” Taron climbs back onto the bed. He nudges Richard’s legs apart and slicks his fingers with lube. “Gonna let me come inside you? That’s what you want?” 

Richard’s eyes flutter shut as Taron fucks him open with a finger. “Yeah,” he groans, arching his back slightly, tipping his hips up. “Can you use another?”

Taron hums in assent. He slides another finger into Richard’s hole effortlessly, scissors him open. “Touch yourself, just a little,” Taron says. Richard does what he’s told. He uses his fingers to slick the head of his cock with the precum that’s leaked out, palming his dick, fucking up into his fist. Taron spits on his free hand and uses it to jerk Richard’s shaft while Richard presses his thumb into his glans. Richard’s hips stutter. He makes an undignified, breathy noise as Taron pulls away. Richard keeps a grip at the base of his dick, willing himself not to come.

Taron removes his fingers. Before he fucks into Richard, he can’t help but push Richard’s legs even further open and lean down, licking over his hole, wet and filthy. Richard jolts in surprise. “You can’t do that, Taron, seriously gonna come if you keep doing it.” He pushes his body into Taron’s mouth anyway. Taron spits on Richard’s hole and comes back up. He wets his cock with lube and rubs the tip of it through the spit at Richard’s entrance, savoring the nasty, wet sound of it all.

Taron pushes in as deep as he can. “You’re not gonna come ‘til I say so, though,” he says, looking down at Richard with his eyes squeezed shut and an arm thrown above his head. Taron puts a hand on Richard’s cheek and taps firmly - not a slap, but jarring enough for Richard’s eyes to fly open. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Richard grits out. “Promise.” 

Taron starts to move, thrusting in and out, luxuriously slow, dragging the head of his cock along Richard’s prostate when he pulls out and hitting it hard when he thrusts in. Taron takes Richard’s dick in one hand and gives him a hard stroke. He’s almost painfully hard, deliciously red and wet. Richard keens. “Do that for me,” he instructs, and Richard takes his place, jerking his cock fast and looking up at Taron with wet, glazed over eyes and an open, kiss-bitten mouth.

Taron starts in harder, faster, slapping skin on skin and keeping a close eye on Richard’s cock. After a moment, Richard slams his eyes shut, his hand faltering on his dick. “Gonna come, please, can I come,” he begs. 

Taron removes Richard’s hand from his dick and grips him tight at the base. Richard crosses his arms over his face, whines, little noises punched out of him when Taron fucks into him. “Fuck, Rich, you want it so bad, huh,” he mutters, getting closer and closer, Richard easily taking his cock whole. When all Richard can do is groan in response, Taron’s hips jerk forward and he comes, deep inside Richard. An entirely new sensation: hot and tight and smooth and wet. Taron thrusts a few more times, experimentally, then pulls out. Too much, the best kind of too much.

He kisses Richard, whose mouth is slack and spit-slick. He’s still hard but doesn’t dare touch himself. “You’re so good,” Taron whispers, almost reverently, into Richard’s hair. “Fucking perfect.”

Richard tilts his head into another kiss. He then looks at Taron, deathly serious, and says, “If I don’t come soon, I’m going to fucking die.” 

Taron explodes with laughter. “And on your 33rd birthday, no less. Some tragedy.” He pumps Richard’s dick a few times, slow and sweet. Richard bucks up into his hand. Taron maneuvers back down the bed and pushes Richard’s legs apart again. With one hand he continues slow, firm strokes on Richard’s cock, and with the other, he slips two fingers back into Richard’s hole. He’s fucked open, loose and wet with come. Richard inhales sharply. Taron’s dick twitches with interest again.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Richard groans. Taron crooks his fingers, probes deeper, until he hears Richard’s pretty gasp again. 

Taron hits Richard’s prostate with one hand and starts jerking him faster with the other. He rests his cheek on Richard’s thigh, happy to do the work and listen to Richard cry with pleasure. “Perfect, fucking gorgeous, Richard,” Taron says. “Are you gonna come for me?”

“Yeah,” Richard says, broken and high in his throat. His back arches up off the bed and on a final hard stroke, he comes all over his stomach and chest, shaking through it.

Taron pulls out and wipes his fingers on Richard’s leg. He lies next to him, rubs a soothing hand over his chest. “Good?” he asks. “Are  _ you  _ having a good time?” he then says, doubling down on the joke.

It works. Richard laughs, rolling over towards Taron and burying his face in Taron’s shoulder. “The best,” he says, muffled into Taron’s skin. Taron wraps him up in his arms. Outside, the sun is just beginning to rise, peeking up light blue and butter yellow on the distant horizon.

“Anything else, birthday boy?” Taron asks. He means it, would give Richard anything he wanted, but Richard just grins and worms his way under the duvet.

“Fucking sleep,” he says. Taron follows suit. Richard hooks a leg around Taron’s and gets in close. Taron feels like he could die, or scream, or pass out, the happiest he’s ever fucking been with Richard Madden smiling like an idiot in his arms.

“Did you mean it, about staying a few days?” Taron asks before Richard completely falls asleep.

Richard opens his eyes at that. “Of course. Y’didn’t bring a bag, though.”

“I’ll just wear your shit, you’ll deal.”

“I’ll deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and kudos-ing! Means the world to me! ❤️


End file.
